There's really only one mitigating thing about this whole mess.
It's still a long way off.
Good thing, too. I'm going to need all the time I can get, if I'm going to attempt to prepare myself. If I'm going to try my hardest to set things up so that I can stage my resurrection. If a part of me is going to survive.
There's no use on steeling myself against it. There are no walls strong enough to prevent this from overwhelming me and drowning me. There are no lies I can tell myself to alleviate the pain I will feel. There isn't a single fucking thing that I can do, except wait, and perhaps silently hope that I die before it happens.
I need to get that fact into my thick skull. I need to learn it, and I need to know it so well that it becomes a part of me. I need to anticipate it, accept it. Relish in the pain it brings.
There is something inside of me.
It's not love, but it's something.
And it's going to scream of loss and sorrow. Then it's going to die.
In less than eighteen months.